


The Epilogue that Wasn't

by azriona



Series: The Next Level 'Verse [6]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:21:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22987831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/azriona/pseuds/azriona
Summary: Unfinished pieces from the unfinished epilogue.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Series: The Next Level 'Verse [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1080642
Comments: 13
Kudos: 226





	The Epilogue that Wasn't

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for the disjointed nature of some of these bits and pieces (ie, Twitter handles that appear only as XXX (which is what I do when I intend to rename or research something later), out-of-order scenes, details that don't jive with the rest of the story). I always intended to go back and finish the epilogue nicely, but I'm unable to do so at this time. However, some of these will hopefully answer questions left unanswered by the main text, so I'm posting them as is.

**Epilogue**

**v-nikiforov**

[Image: Black-and-white. A sheath of sunlight cutting through the grainy darkness, shining light on rumpled sheets on a rumpled bed. A man’s hand lies palm-down on the sheets, slightly curled as if at rest. The ring on one of the fingers glistens in the light, and there’s a ribbon tied to a round, metallic disc that is probably the same color as the ring.]

#mine

christophe-gc, yuri-plisetsky, phichit+chu, mila, leo, and 8,000 others liked this post.

xxx that is such a beautiful picture!

xxx omg omg omg omg omg omg omg omg

xxx did anyone notice the four twists of the ribbon, signifying the quad quad that katsuki did?

xxx you’re reading too much into a snapshot, mate

 **yuri-plisetsky** possessive much, nikiforov? just because he’s gonna marry you doesn’t mean you own him. OR HIS MEDAL.

 **christophe-gc** who said that was katsuki’s hand?

xxx DO YOU MEAN THAT’S VICTOR? OMG DID KATSUKI STEAL HIS PHONE? IS HE GONNA BE ON SOCIAL MEDIA NOW?

xxx my crops are watered, my dogs are fed, my bed is made. i die happy.

*

“Hide me,” hisses Yuuri.

Malik Blake is sprawled across the green room couch, reading what is probably the thickest book in the entire world and wearing a pair of glasses that looks infinitely more stylish than Yuuri’s American-mall-store plastic pair. When he looks up from the book, he peers over them as if he’s been studying some ancient tome that might bring about world peace, and Yuuri’s an inconvenient interruption.

“From whom?” he asks politely.

“ _Them_!”

Yuuri can hear the thundering of feet down the hall; he slides down the closed door and tries to resist the urge to bite his fingernails.

“Isn’t that your coach’s job?” Malik asks.

Yuuri slams the door shut just as the thundering gets louder, as do the voices accompanying the feet.

“Yuuri! Mr. Katsuki! We just have a few questions!”

“Just a minute of your time!”

“Where’d he go?”

“This way!” calls a cheerful voice with a Russian accent. “Follow me, I’m sure he ducked around this way!”

Malik cocks his head. “Wasn’t that Victor Nikiforov?”

Yuuri groans and buries his head in his arms.

The thundering is right outside the door – and then past it, continuing down the hallway, with Victor shouting encouragement and directions.

“To the right! No, left! Yes, this way! Here we go!”

“Interesting way of fending off reporters,” says Malik.

Yuuri groans.

*

There’s a banner hanging over the ice when Victor and Yuuri arrive at the rink in Saint Petersburg. It’s half in Russian and half in what is without a doubt Google-assisted Japanese.

“Wow,” says Victor, delighted. “Yuuri, look! A banner! Do you think Minako is here somewhere?”

“Don’t tell me if I messed up the Japanese,” Georgi tells Yuuri.

Yuuri has already decided to keep the actual translation to himself. “How did you get it up there?” he asks.

“Balloons,” says Georgi.

No one understands why Yuuri nearly chokes. They assume it’s the translation.

They’re halfway through morning skate – which is really more of an excuse for them all to go over each other’s programs and discuss what sorts of things they want to try in next year’s programs – when there’s a very large _clang_ as Valentina Maratovna opens the double doors leading into the rink.

Yuuri’s heart lodges itself in his throat and _stays_ there. It doesn’t help that every single other member of the Russian team immediately skates to an area between he and Valentina. They’re all clearly trying to look as if it’s entirely coincidental and not at all an act of protection. None of them are very successful; Yurio looks like he’s auditioning for a Russian version of West Side Story.

“I want to extend my congratulations to all you,” says Valentina. Her voice echoes in the large space. “You have done your country and this program extremely proud. Please have a restful summer and we look forward to what glories you will achieve in the next season.”

No one responds, not that Valentina waits for it. She turns and leaves, without saying another word. Before the echo of the door has even faded, the skaters burst into talk.

“That _bitch_ ,” splutters Mila.

“Is she _serious_?” yells Yurio.

“I should have been modeling my witch after her,” muses Georgi.

“I have to go to her,” says Yuuri, still staring at the doors.

Victor turns to Yuuri. “I’ll go with you.”

“No,” says Yuuri. “This is something I have to do myself.”

Victor frowns, his eyes narrowing.

“Vitya, it’s fine,” says Yuuri firmly. “If the worst happens, I’ll send you a text from Japan.”

“ _Yuuuri_ , that’s not funny!”

*

Valentina’s office door is ajar. Yuuri takes a minute to compose himself in the hall before knocking.

“[Come in!]”

Yuuri slowly pushes open the door and steps inside.

“Mr. Katsuki,” says Valentina, looking up from her computer. “Congratulations on your win.”

“Thank you,” says Yuuri. He closes the door behind him. Valentina’s eyes are solidly focused on him; he can feel them burning into his skin. His fingers clench around the object in his pocket. “I brought you something from Boston.”

Valentina raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Yuuri pulls out his gold medal, the ribbon wrapped securely around it. He sets it carefully down on the center of Valentina’s desk.

Neither of them speak, but Valentina’s eyes switch to stare at the medal instead of Yuuri. It makes breathing a little bit easier.

“ _Bozhe moi_ ,” grumbles Valentina finally. “You’d think the ISU would pay for decent ribbon.”

Yuuri’s mouth quirks. “It’s not as scratchy as it looks.”

“Hmph,” snorts Valentina. She looks up at him. “It’s very nice, but I don’t understand why you brought it to me.”

Yuuri blinks. “I beat both of the Russian competitors.”

“And last year you weren’t eligible to attend, proving that Russian training is superior,” says Valentina.

Yuuri waits.

Valentina keeps looking at him, as if she’s the one waiting for _him_ to speak.

Yuuri lets out a breath. “Okay, I – you told me not to get gold. You said if I beat out the Russians at Worlds, you’d revoke my visa!”

Valentina looks absolutely scandalized. “Mr. Katsuki, you must have misunderstood me. I would never threaten an athlete with _deportation_. The FFKKR may have _some_ reach – but that is quite too far.”

Yuuri racks his brain, trying to remember. Good lord – had he _remembered_ wrong?

Was he _that_ jet-lagged that he’d misinterpreted good wishes as _threats_?

_That is quite too far…_

Or did Valentina mean she’d actually _tried_ , and was saving face because she’d found out she couldn’t do it in the end?

Yuuri knows when to bow out with all expediency.

He bows, as low as he can get without toppling over. “I am sorry, Maratovna-san. I must have misunderstood you. My Russian teacher is excellent, but my study habits are deplorable. I will work harder on my language skills over the summer.”

“Hmm.” Valentina’s mouth is pursed. “See that you do, Mr. Katsuki. I understand you and Victor will be traveling to Japan for three weeks?”

Yuuri straightens. The rush of blood to his head is dizzying. “Ah – yes. He’s made arrangements for an ice show in my hometown. And the news stations there all want interviews with us. But we’ll be home in a month for Lilia Baronovskaya’s concert—”

Valentina’s mouth quirks, almost as if she heard Yuuri’s reference to Saint Petersburg as _home._ “Victor, too?”

“Of course, Victor,” says Yuuri, surprised that she’d even ask.

Valentina rolls her eyes. “As you say. I look forward to your participation in the Summer Ballet Gala. I’m sure you have somewhere to be right now.”

“I—” Yuuri swallows, mind already racing. It takes all his effort to reign it in.

_Stop that! Analysis later!_

“Thank you, Maratovna-san.”

“Mmm,” grunts Valentina, turning to her computer.

Yuuri turns to go.

“Mr. Katsuki!”

Yuuri turns back.

Valentina jerks her head down to the medal still waiting on her desk. “For your bathroom wall.”

“Oh. Right. Yes.” Yuuri scrambles to pick up his medal, cheeks burning. “Sorry.”

Victor’s waiting for him in the hall, looking hopeful with his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Vitya,” scolds Yuuri. “I told you I’d be fine.”

Victor’s face brightens. “So it’s all right?”

Yuuri sighs, fingering his medal. “She denied even having said it.”

Victor grins, but it’s accompanied by a dramatic sigh. “I guess I didn’t need to bring the passports after all.”

“ _Vitya_.” Yuuri bumps his shoulder as he starts down the hall.

“I was going to come in and say how we were late for our flights,” explains Victor, falling into step with him. “And make a dramatic speech—”

“Oh, a _dramatic_ speech!”

“—about how much I will miss my home country, but that love drives me to follow where it leads. Or flies. You don’t drive a plane, do you, Yuuri? I think I’d look very good in a pilot’s uniform, don’t you think? All that gold braid.”

Yuuri blushes, but he stops and gives Victor an assessing look. “And am I the co-pilot, or the flight attendant, in this scenario?”

Victor’s eyes light up as he wraps his arms around Yuuri’s waist and pulls him close.

 _Very_ close. Yuuri knows _exactly_ how much Victor’s liking this scenario. “You’re the very lucky passenger who gets a _special_ tour of the cockpit.”

“OH MY FUCKING GOD MY EYES!” howls Yurio from behind them. “IS NOWHERE SACRED IN THIS PLACE?”

Yuuri bursts into giggles, doubled over against Victor’s chest.

“Oh, hi, Yura!” says Victor. “You’re still so _small_ I didn’t see you there! Guess what! Yuuri gets to keep his gold medal and stay in Saint Petersburg!”

“As if I fucking care,” snaps Yurio – but Yuuri thinks he can hear the relief in his voice. “You owe me _twenty thousand bowls_ of katsudon for this, Katsudon.”

“Mmm,” says Victor, humming appreciatively. “I do like a bowl of Katsu—”

“SHUT UP DON’T SAY IT OH MY GOD, I HATE YOU BOTH.”

Yuuri hears the door to the stairwell creak open and lifts his head to shout after Yurio. “Katsudon at our place next Sunday, Yurio!”

“Yeah, whatever!”

“He’ll be there,” Yuuri tells Victor.

Victor grins. “I know.”

*

“I want to take you to Paris.”

“I’ve been to Paris,” says Yuuri from underneath his bed.

(“Oh, Yuuri, we aren’t going to make you give up your room!” laughed Hiroko when they’d returned to the onsen. “It’s _your room_.”

Mari hadn’t been so nostalgic when she’d handed them the broom and a sheath of folded storage boxes. “Start cleaning, we’ve got extra guests in August,” she said flatly.)

He crawls back out a moment later, holding a sock with two fingers. The sock is clearly old, folded in strange ways and covered in dust. “This isn’t mine.”

Victor leans over the bed to look at it. “It’s mine.”

“Why is your sock under my bed?”

“Oh,” says Victor, carelessly, “I probably lost it during one of my naps.”

Yuuri frowns. “When did you nap in here?”

Victor shrugs. “Yesterday? November? October? I don’t know, one of them.”

Yuuri looks horrified. “You… you _napped_ in here? Last _year_?!?”

“Of course I napped, Yuuri, even I can’t conquer jet lag on good intentions.”

“But – Victor!” Yuuri’s voice is rising to a shriek; he leans forward and lowers it quickly to a whisper. “Victor. This is _my room_. Your room was _down the hall_.”

“Your mother didn’t mind,” says Victor.

Yuuri groans and drops his head on the mattress. “No wonder she thought we were sleeping together!”

Victor’s hand is soft on the back of Yuuri’s head. “Yuuri, we _were_ sleeping together.”

“That doesn’t mean I wanted my mother to think about it.”

“I wonder if that’s why she always made sure to give me very hearty breakfasts,” muses Victor.

Half the fun of having Yuuri as a fiancé is watching him combust from embarrassment.

But Victor will take _that_ secret to the grave.


End file.
